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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926716">Attic Secrets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireAmethystPatch/pseuds/SapphireAmethystPatch'>SapphireAmethystPatch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Carrie Wilson-centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:15:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireAmethystPatch/pseuds/SapphireAmethystPatch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carrie Wilson finds an old box in her attic filled with Sunset Curve memorabilia.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Attic Secrets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carrie had a reputation. She liked to believe it was a solid, good, one, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t know some of the things people said about her. She was charming, beautiful, the epitome of a dancing queen, 17. She got her nails done every two weeks and got pedicures with Kayla every month. Who would she be if she was caught with nasty cuticles?</p><p> </p><p>Leave it to Pinterest to plant a seed of obsession in her. Armed with a Pin Board of aesthetic inspiration, Carrie decided she was going to make herself an attic space. Why an attic space? Have you seen the cute spaces people made for themselves? Comfy mini chairs, bookshelves and record players, colorful area rugs and little paintings. Light shining through tiny windows, and fairy lights to make up for the rest of lighting.</p><p> </p><p>Stepping into their attic, however, was a nightmare. An explosion of dust flooded to Carrie and Kayla through the trap door they had just busted open. Coughing and sputtering, they took in the sight before them.</p><p> </p><p>Her father was clearly a hoarder. Cardboard boxes were stacked against the walls, shelves covered with dusty relics. There was one small circular window, and most of the light coming in was blocked by the sheer amount of dust floating in the air.</p><p> </p><p>But if Carrie did any hard labor, it had either be totally worth it, or purely for the aesthetic. This was both. Some things were worth ruined nails.</p><p> </p><p>They got to work immediately, the only thing pushing the girls through was the sheer joy the other Dirty Candi girls would get with their new hangout spot. The one window was open to filter the air. They started moving boxes to the far side of the attic. There was a small area to the left of the trap door that the girls wouldn’t be able to use if they wanted, but was perfect for storing all the clutter. </p><p> </p><p>As Carrie picked up a box and started over to the stack, the bottom opened, spilling the contents all over the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course. Kayla, help please?”</p><p> </p><p>The girls started putting the things in a new box, but Carrie stopped when she came across a fancy looking box. It had been settled between crumpled newspapers and had obviously been hidden. It was a little bigger than a shoe box and was covered in blue velvet. A piece of notebook paper had been taped to the top, <em> Sunset Curve 1992-95 </em> written in messy scrawl. </p><p> </p><p>Tentatively, Carrie opened the box, the creaking of the hinges loud enough to call Kayla’s attention. Inside were many copies of the same CD, a couple t-shirts with the logo, a stack of photos, and a few VHS tapes. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you think it is?” Kayla whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“Beats me, but my dad obviously hid it for a reason.”</p><p> </p><p>Carrie bit her lip, turning one of the tapes over in her hands. She trusted her dad, if he had hidden it she should pretend she never saw it, but a gut feeling told her to play the tapes, to examine the photos, to listen to the CD. The tape in her hands was labeled <em> Summer ‘94 </em>. </p><p> </p><p>And before Carrie knew it, they had brought the box downstairs to the living room, plugging in the old VCR and praying it still worked. </p><p> </p><p>Whoever had played the tape last (probably her dad) hadn’t let the tape rewind, so Kayla and Carrie made themselves sandwiches as they waited. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, the tape was finished, so Kayla pressed play.</p><p> </p><p>The first clip showed three boys, they looked to be about her age. One was doing a handstand against the wall while the other two and the one behind the camera counted the seconds and cheered. One of the boys took the camera, and Carrie realized her dad had been holding it, his face coming into view. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, that’s my dad!” Carrie pointed at the young Trevor. His hair was parted down the middle, much like in many of the photos in their family albums. </p><p> </p><p>In the tape, her dad replaced the other boy, flipping into a handstand himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Bobby! You’re not gonna let Alex show you up, right?” The cameraman shouted above the cheers. </p><p> </p><p>“I thought you said that was your dad?” Kayla asked. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m positive that’s my dad. But why’d they call him Bobby?”</p><p> </p><p>Confusion melted away as she watched her dad, young and carefree with his friends. He was so happy.</p><p> </p><p>The clip ended just as her young dad fell over, laughter cutting off abruptly. The next clip took a moment to appear, but Carrie was delighted to see her dad’s sleeping figure sleeping on a couch. It was evident the other three boys were behind the camera by their snickering. One arm covered in red flannel reached out and drew a mustache on young Trevor’s face. Kayla muttered something about a classic prank and the boys having taste, but Carrie still couldn’t shake the odd feeling settling in her gut. </p><p> </p><p>“You know Bobby’s gonna kill you, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Leave it for later. Take the camera, I’m gonna give him a wet willie.”</p><p> </p><p>A wet finger inserted itself in her dad’s ear, and he woke in anger, grabbing the offender in a headlock in an instant, somehow knowing exactly who did it, like they did it often. </p><p> </p><p>As the boys wrestled on the floor, the one wearing flannel coming to break up the fight, Kayla gasped.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, I’ve seen that guy! I know I have.” She pointed to the dark haired boy. “He’s cute, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen him.” </p><p> </p><p>Carrie grabbed the remote and paused it, wanting to get a closer look at his face. Now that Kayla had said something, all three of the guys seemed familiar. </p><p> </p><p>But her gaze was drawn away from their faces, instead to their setting. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait. That’s Julie’s mom’s studio!”</p><p> </p><p>“Julie Molina?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, that Julie!” Carrie snapped. That couch was <em> still </em> in there, at least, it had been the last time Carrie had been in the studio with Rose and Julie and Flynn. “It looks a lot worse, but that’s it. What are they doing in there?” Carrie whispered the last sentence, but Kayla looked at her in pity. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I can watch this anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s… let’s listen to the CDs.” Carrie decided, voice shaking. </p><p> </p><p>Kayla grabbed one of the black ones, the words Sunset Curve in white lettering on the front. The CD player was joined to the DVD player, so Kayla crawled over and popped it in. </p><p> </p><p>And this was somehow worse. The voices seemed eerily familiar, the style of music fit right in her heart as if she had been listening to them for years. Knowing her dad had been in a band and<em> hadn’t told her </em> was concerning. Music was important to them. Music was their passion, their love language. What else had he hidden from her?</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t. I’d rather watch the tapes.” Carrie sighed into her hands. Her sandwich was forgotten, half eaten in front of her on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>Carrie chose a tape labeled <em> To Record Later </em> and put it in the player with shaking hands.</p><p> </p><p>The clip started, and Carrie found herself mesmerized. The four boys were settled in playing position in the Molina studio, her dad set up next to the sleeveless one, the drum set and bassist on the other side of the small area. They were laughing, joking, shaking out nerves as the drummer pressed record on the camera and ran back to his drums. He counted them in.</p><p> </p><p>And the song that haunted Carrie’s dreams played out.</p><p> </p><p>It was a little different without Julie on the keys or her voice singing out, but this was it. The song Julie had played with her dumb hologram band at the spirit assembly. The song Julie had shown her up with.</p><p> </p><p><em> So Julie stole her dad’s music? </em> Anger bubbled in her chest. How could she? Of course, Julie probably didn’t know this was her dad’s music, but how had she gotten a hold of the song anyway?</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, I know who that is! That’s the guy in Julie’s band who winked at me!”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course that can’t be him! This was 25 years ago.” Carrie said, but her confidence was waning. </p><p> </p><p>And in a snap, it all clicked. The sleeveless one was the one everyone was talking about, he and Julie were always sharing the mic and looking at each other with love in their eyes. Luke; she had overheard Flynn teasing Julie one day in the halls. The drummer had made a killer solo during their Orpheum performance. </p><p> </p><p>“What the hell?!” Carrie shouted, standing up abruptly. Kayla looked at her, bewildered, before looking back to the boys playing the song. </p><p> </p><p>No matter how Carrie tried, she couldn’t look away. Her dad. With the Phantoms. </p><p> </p><p>“Um. Carrie? You should look at this.”</p><p> </p><p>Carrie looked down in a daze. Kayla had dumped the photos on the floor and was pulling out small laminated papers from the bottom of the box. </p><p> </p><p>She looked over Kayla’s shoulder, and took in the obituaries she held. Three of them, to be exact. </p><p> </p><p>The faces of Julie’s band at the top of each card made Carrie sick.</p><p> </p><p>“They… they’re dead?” She whispered, unable to raise her voice.</p><p> </p><p>“This doesn’t make sense. They died 25 years ago, but… how?” Kayla asked no one in particular. </p><p> </p><p>The girl’s locked eyes as they registered the sound of her dad coming through the front door. </p><p> </p><p>“Carrie? You home?”</p><p> </p><p>“In the den.” Carrie muttered, sure he dad couldn’t have heard her over the blaring music.</p><p> </p><p>He came into the living room, white as a ghost, and Carrie was sure she looked the same. His eyes trailed from the TV still playing <em> him </em>, the photos on the floor, and the obituaries in Kayla’s hands. </p><p> </p><p>“Damn it.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The last thing Julie was expecting at 2pm on a Saturday was Carrie Wilson at her doorstep, but no amount of disbelief would make her go away. She clutched a blue velvet box with white knuckles and a scowl.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you have a VCR?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, probably? What’s this about?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your band.” </p><p> </p><p>Julie didn’t have time to comprehend what she said before Carrie was pushing her way past and into her house. Julie closed the door with a huff and followed Carrie into her own living room. </p><p> </p><p>Carrie was already sitting in front of the TV, box open and pulling out a VHS tape.</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously, Carrie what are you doing here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just shut up, Molina. Watch.”</p><p> </p><p>Carrie pressed play on the remote, TV crackling to life and the familiar sound of her boy’s laughter filling the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Where did you get this?” Julie said, voice hoarse. </p><p> </p><p>On the screen, Alex ran behind the drum kit, and the three guys she knew and one she supposed was Carrie’s dad started playing Bright.</p><p> </p><p>“Carrie!” Julie repeated, and finally the blonde looked up, still seated. “Where did you get this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Our attic. Were you ever going to come clean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Come clean? I don’t owe you any explanation.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you do.”</p><p> </p><p>And then Carrie was thrusting cream colored cards in her hands. Obituaries. Julie wasn’t proud of the measly ‘oh’ she let out. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine. We’ll tell you everything. Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> We </em>? Julie Molina, who is we?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just shut up, Wilson. Come.”</p><p> </p><p>Julie was proud of the indignant groan Carrie let out as Julie led her to the studio. Not that Carrie needed to be led, but Julie was going to hold the upper hand here. </p><p> </p><p>She sat Carrie down and told her everything. The hot dogs, the dark room, the ghosts. The evil ghost magician and the stamps. </p><p> </p><p>They played an instrumental of Bright for her, the three boys appearing before her with sorry smiles. </p><p> </p><p>The boys were gracious enough to let her hands phase through them as they played gently. They stayed silent as she processed. They were… understanding. And it was plain to see that their kindness was irking her.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re ghosts!”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what Flynn said!” Reggie said with a gleeful smile.</p><p> </p><p>“We prefer musician spirits.” Alex said cheekily, and Julie leveled him with a stare.</p><p> </p><p>“So your dad told you everything?” Luke asked, trying to quell his anger.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I found a bunch of tapes and photos in the attic. And your funeral announcements.”</p><p> </p><p>The boys winced. </p><p> </p><p>“He was no help, actually. I want to know what happened.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bobby stole our music.”</p><p> </p><p>“His name is Trevor.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but it’s not.” Luke snarked back. “Didn’t you ever wonder why his new music doesn’t sound like his first EP at all? We wrote all those songs.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait… you’re saying you wrote those songs? <em> Long Weekend </em> ? <em> Crooked teeth </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wrote that one about Reggie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Reggie stopped playing, his form flickering out of Carrie’s view for a few seconds while he recovered.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Carrie,” Julie started, still behind the keys, “what about <em> My Name is Luke </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“I did always wonder about that one…” Carrie whispered. “Is there any song he didn’t take?”</p><p> </p><p>“Only two. <em> Finally Free </em> and--” Alex started, only for Luke to cut him off.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say it.”</p><p> </p><p>“At least your dad didn’t take all of them!” Julie said in an effort to comfort her. “He didn’t take<em> Finally Free</em>. Alex wrote it about coming out. We played it at Eats n Beats.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s… that’s cool, Alex.”</p><p> </p><p>Julie knew Carrie was breaking. Her boys were delightful and she knew it. Carrie didn’t seem mad at them. In fact, she seemed angry at her dad. </p><p> </p><p>Julie wouldn’t call it friendship, but she could feel something changing in their relationship. A truce. An alliance. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe, if she was lucky, a long-overdue understanding.</p>
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